


M is for Morrigan

by chileancarmenere



Series: Alistair Alphabet [13]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:11:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chileancarmenere/pseuds/chileancarmenere





	M is for Morrigan

Over the past year, he’s come to know her inside-out, and so when Kaillian comes into his room, her shoulders hunched up and her eyes on her boots, Alistair knows that there’s something wrong.

So he does what he always does in these situations: he starts cracking inappropriate jokes.

She stops him with one of her level looks, and then just stands there, chewing her lip. He casts around for another topic of conversation. His stomach is in knots too from the dreadful revelation of Riordan’s, and he doesn’t want her to go to bed without speaking what is on her mind.

“I saw Morrigan outside your room earlier. What did she want?”

“Maker,” Kaillian mutters. “Alistair…you know I love you, right?”

The question throws him. “And I love you. But you didn’t come in here just to ask that.”

“And you trust me, right?”

“Unreservedly.” He does. He loves her, but more than that, he respects her and admires her.

“ThenIneedyoutosleepwithMorriganforaritualthatwillsaveourassestomorrow.”

Alistair can’t even begin to pick out words in that. “What?”

Kaillian swallows. “Um…you need to, you know, ah, _sleep_. With Morrigan. For a, um, magic ritual. So a Grey Warden doesn’t die. Because, you know, the Archdemon.”

“You’re joking. Ha ha, that’s cute.” He says this out of habit, because he knows her, and he knows that she’s not joking. The alternative, however, is not pleasant to contemplate.

“I’m not.” Kaillian takes two steps forward and grabs his shoulders. “Please. Just listen to me. This is shit and I know it. But I can’t see you die. All right?”

“What does she…why does she need me to do this?” Alistair avoids looking her in the eyes, feeling like a coward. The simple, passionate appeal – _I can’t see you die_ – is painful to him.

By degrees, she wrestles him around. Alistair protests; why can’t it be Riordan, why does he need to sleep with her, does Kaillian even want him to do this, but eventually Alistair knows that he has to do this. Because he can’t see her die, either.

Kaillian leads him back to her room, where Morrigan – sleek, dark, _evil_ – is standing next to the fire, looking voluptuous and dangerous in her Tevinter robes.

“He said yes,” Kaillian says abruptly.

“I am pleased,” Morrigan replies in her musical voice. She shoots him a calculating look, as if wondering how Kaillian managed to persuade him.

“Let’s get this over with, then,” he says, his voice rougher than he intended. Kaillian winces a little, and he wishes that he could put a hand out to comfort her, but under Morrigan’s bright gaze he is awkward. “I’ll go, then,” she mutters under her breath, and leaves without a backwards glance to either of them. Alistair swallows hard. Even the sight of her makes his stomach turn in revulsion. She is the antithesis of everything that he finds good and honest, but she is offering him a way of saving Kaillian, so he is going to take it.

He strips his shirt off, and Morrigan’s eyes gleam in approval. “Could you…not look?” He feels like it would be so much easier if she treated him impersonally.

“Oh, I can promise you, Alistair, you are nowhere near what I would seek out if I had a choice.” Morrigan obligingly turns her back and begins unbuttoning her robes, so she misses the surprised look he shoots her. He had assumed that she was doing this for some unknown reason of her own – somehow, this was going to benefit her. And yet – _if I had a choice_ doesn’t sound as though Morrigan wants this any more than he does. In fact…it almost sounds as though she’s trapped. The same as Kaillian. The same as him.

He’s still revolted by what they do, but he tries to be as gentle as he can. When it’s all done, clothing hastily thrown back on and eyes averted, he pauses at the door and looks back at Morrigan. She sits on the bed, facing the fire, but he fancies – even though it’s silly and obviously witches don’t have feelings – he fancies that he might even see the gleam of tears on her cheeks.


End file.
